


All The Little Pieces

by thewhitebirds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhitebirds/pseuds/thewhitebirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are as much a Slytherin as the rest of us, Scorpius. Do not pretend to not understand the importance--no, the <i>value</i>--of a lie." Written for HP Nextgen Fest 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Little Pieces

_Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them. -Oscar Wilde_

  
"This has gone on to ridiculous lengths, dearest." Narcissa sets down the teacup with a definitive clink; the tiniest of frowns mars her face as she surveys her only grandson. They sit in silence, each second punctuated by the ticking of the old clock. Scorpius finds it difficult to meet her eyes; when he does, he's almost blown away by how angry they are. This is _Narcissa_ , the endless source of childhood hugs and cake and excuses for mischief.

"I just need some time, Grandmama."

" _Time?_ For Merlin's sake. This is causing your mother a great deal of pain. I care about you and Draco very much, and not speaking to one another is an entirely _puerile_ action. You have a duty to yourself and to this family, dearest, and you have strayed from it completely."

He wants to tell her that she can't possibly understand how difficult it's been; a life of two steps forward and one step back. Duty to Malfoys be damned. Money, it seems, can buy many things, but not trust from the rest of the world and certainly not freedom from suspicion. He's tired of inevitable raised eyebrows, sideways glances, and awkward questions at every introduction. In the end, all he can say is: "It was wrong of him to lie to me about what happened with Albus Dumbledore."

Narcissa waves it away. "You are as much a Slytherin as the rest of us, Scorpius. Do not pretend to not understand the importance--no, the _value_ \--of a lie at certain time, especially one designed to protect others. The peace of your childhood is not something to take so lightly."

"All the same," Scorpius interjects, "I'm sure _you_ have never told a lie like that."

Her smile looks like heartbreak. "Dearest, you could not _begin_ to understand the magnitude of the lies I have told."

***

Rose pulls on her shirt and hums to herself as she works on the buttons. "One day, we're actually going to use our lunch break for lunch." She slips the abandoned earrings back on and begins on her hair, peering at him through the reflection in the mirror. "Also. We need to talk."

"If this is about my family, we made a deal, Rosie. And you're breaking it."

She shrugs. "Yeah, but I'm breaking it for your own good. Everyone did things they regretted in the war, you know. Dad and Mum still get nightmares about the people they couldn't help. There's no point in placing blame anywhere. It happened. It's over. Everyone has to survive the best they can." The curly red hair is fighting its pins and she gives up.

Rose is an enigma; years of school and work with her and he still never knows what to say. "My dad and my grandfather were on the side of... of murderers," he manages.

"Not because they wanted to," she says simply. "Trust me. I have more access to court records than you do."

***

Astoria is trying to be neutral through all of this, but Scorpius knows she isn't, really, because her smile falters a little when she sees him and the lines around her eyes don't crinkle. He buys them coffee and those disgusting pumpkin biscuits she's always loved.

"Your father wants you to know--"

"That I'm disowned?" The joke falls flat and he watches his mother press her lips together.

"No."

"I want to talk about the war."

"That's what your grandmother said," she sighs, running a well-manicured hand through her hair. "There's a _reason_ people don't want to talk about it. You'll never experience that kind of nightmare, and you shouldn't. We wanted to keep you safe."

He eats a biscuit, even though it's burnt. "Well, that worked out."

Astoria twists her wedding ring absently. "You know," she says, "I was never supposed to marry your father. My parents thought during the rebuilding it would improve my life to marry a half-blood like your Aunt Daphne did, or even a blood-traitor. They were incredibly disappointed. Being a Malfoy, my father said, meant high expectations, a great deal of responsibility, and a very low payoff."

His grandfathers have all been dead for years, but at this point, he's certain Hector Greengrass is the better one. "Well, why didn't you listen?"

She smiles. "Love."

The coffee isn't as bitter as he expects.

***

It occurs to him that Narcissa always wears black. It might be mourning, but it could also be her eccentricity, like how she only wears Italian leather gloves. He can tell she's still displeased when he visits her, but she covers it with concern for his health ("You're not feeding yourself well!") and the concern over stress of his job ("They _hardly_ give you any vacation!").

He wanders around and looks at photographs while she reads. Almost every year is documented in pictures, with a gap for the war. Even though they couldn't look more dissimilar, something about her expression reminds him of Rose. She's with Lucius in most pictures. No one wears black.

"Was grandfather a lot like my father?"

Narcissa looks up and smiles, a real smile. "Oh darling, in so many ways. Stubborn and proud and silver-tongued. But at times, Lucius was more like _you_."

He doesn't want it. He doesn't want a comparison with a man who supposedly killed an auror, who hosted the Dark Lord in his house, who escaped justice by some technicality in the system and because there was enough money in the family vault to rebuild the Wizarding World. "How so?"

Narcissa hesitates. "He could never admit he was wrong," she says lightly. "And…he never reconciled with his father. When Abraxas died, it was one of his biggest regrets."

***

Against his express wishes, Rose takes him to her parents' house for dinner. They sprawl on the fat sofas like teenagers and argue about Quidditch. When the door opens and Hermione Weasley--the living legend--walks in, Scorpius has to fight a very strong instinct to flee. She's distractedly leafing through parchment as she walks until Rose runs up and kisses her.

"What a wonderful surprise! I _do_ have a daughter." They laugh for a moment together as he tries to fade into the sofa.

"This is Scorpius. I've told you about him." There's an awkward moment where he shakes hands with Hermione over the sofa. He waits for the inevitable suspicious narrowing of eyes, for the raised eyebrow, for the sideways glance, for the awkward question. It doesn't come.

"I'm very happy to meet you," Hermione says with a smile. "Ron and I would love to hear about the trade agreement you helped negotiate with Iceland. Rose only has praise for you and your work." (Scorpius feels forgiven, but he isn't sure why.)

Later, Rose drags him up to her old room with a conspiring glance that makes him laugh. "I have a present for you."

"I'm sure I can guess what it is."

"You can't. I've actually committed a felony for it." Disappointment appears on his face when she pulls out a large book from under the bed; it changes to anger when he reads the words _A TRANSCRIPT OF THE WIZENGAMOT TRIALS, 1998-2002, VOLUME XI_ on the cover.

"Why are you doing this? It's none of your business, Rose, it really isn't. Stop trying to mess around in my life."

She's unfazed. "At this point, your life is my life too. I did this because I care about you, and watching you suffer is killing me. Now read."

***

Astoria is working in the garden when he walks through Malfoy Manor's gate. She pushes the hat back and hugs him, smelling like roses and earth and rain. "It's been far too long. The house misses you. I miss you." When she smiles, her eyes crinkle. (Scorpius feels forgiven, but he isn't sure why.)

Scorpius wants to say that houses don't have feelings, that nothing ever changes here, that it's a strange world where your possessions and your history will live longer than you will. But he doesn't. He sits on the grass--it's an old suit, anyway--and watches his mother clip roses. The air is warm and the grounds are quiet.

"Your father wouldn't have killed Dumbledore," Astoria begins softly, though he hasn't asked. "He would have done everything-- _anything_ \--to keep the family safe, but not that." She turns towards the house, slowly. "Dinner is at eight, if you wish to join us."

He follows her into the foyer without a word, but instead of turning left, he takes a right towards Draco's study.


End file.
